13. Rowan #3
"On the way back." I forward the photograph while we're talking. "I need you to look at what I just sent."
Harper is quiet while the image loads. "That's Peter."
"And Erik." I enlarge the warehouse sign again.
"I can see that."
"The warehouse is on the Zaitsev route."
Harper takes another few seconds before answering. "I can see that too."
I wait because she knows what I'm actually asking.
"A photograph of two men outside a warehouse proves two men were outside a warehouse." Her answer is deliberate.
"That's my line."
"It's a good line."
I look at the second anonymous message. "Vanessa knows something about it."
"How do you know?" Harper's tone changes from teasing to work immediately.
I tell her about the anonymous text and my call to Vanessa. By the end, she's stopped interrupting entirely.
"She could be baiting you," Harper says after I finish.
"She could also be scared." I put the phone against my knee and study the photograph again.
"Those aren't mutually exclusive."
"I know."
Harper hesitates before asking the next question. "Are you showing Erik?"
My attention stays on his face in the picture. "I want to verify the timestamp and location first."
"That's reasonable." She waits another second. "You're saying it like you need me to agree."
"I don't."
"Rowan." Harper leaves my name there without turning it into an accusation.
I look out the window while traffic moves south.
When she continues, her voice is quieter. "You still keep a separate case against him in your head."
I hate how close she gets to the truth. "I keep evidence separate until I know what it is."
"You sleep beside him."
"That has nothing to do with chain of custody."
Harper doesn't let me hide there. "It has something to do with whether you believe him."
I disconnect before she can turn this into a conversation neither of us is qualified to conduct.
The photograph remains on my screen.
Verification matters. The timestamp could be altered, the location could be presented without context, or the entire image could exist because Orell wants me asking Erik exactly the wrong question.
I also want the evidence in my possession before I give Erik a chance to explain it.
I know the difference between those reasons, even if I don't like the second one.
Erik is in the penthouse office when I get back.
Makari hasn't arrived yet. Liya went directly to the foundation building after our driver dropped her off, leaving me alone with the dress bag, the necklace in its locked case, and the photograph still on my phone.
Erik looks up from his desk when I enter. "How bad was it?"
"The salon?" I carry the dress bag farther into the room.
"Liya." His attention shifts toward the garment bag.
"She weaponized couture." I lay it across the back of a chair.
Erik returns to the document in front of him. "That sounds normal."
"You picked the worst dress."
"You're wearing it." He says it without looking up.
"I haven't agreed to that."
"You lifted your hair for the necklace." Erik finally looks at me, apparently convinced that settled everything.
"That was temporary insanity."
His attention moves to the jewelry case. "You brought it back."
"I wasn't going to leave six figures in a salon."
"That would've upset Liya."
"It would've upset me more."
My phone vibrates before he can answer.
The unknown number has sent another message.
He knew where Peter was.
I read it once.
Erik gets up from the desk and crosses the office while I'm still looking at the screen. I put the phone face-down beside the garment bag before he reaches me.
He notices.
His attention stays on the phone for a second before he looks at me. "Problem?"
"No." The answer comes too quickly, and there isn't enough noise in the room to hide that.
Erik waits.
I start unzipping the dress bag because fabric is easier to deal with than his expression. He doesn't ask the question again. Instead, he returns to the desk and picks up the paper he abandoned when I came in.
That should make this easier.
It doesn't.
He gives me the privacy I keep insisting I want, while I stand six feet away hiding a photograph that suggests he knew more about Peter than he told me.
The quiet becomes uncomfortable because I created it.
I open my mouth, uncertain whether I'm going to show him the photograph or ask where he was four days ago.
The office door opens first.
Makari comes in carrying a guest list and a sealed envelope. Whatever he sees between Erik and me doesn't slow him. He crosses directly to the desk.
Erik puts down his papers. "What happened?"
"Orell Zaitsev accepted the gala invitation." Makari lays the guest list between us.
I move closer. "He wasn't invited."
"He received access through a donor allotment." Makari opens the envelope and removes a card. "He accepted personally."
Erik takes it from him.
I step beside Erik and read the sentence over his arm.
I look forward to finally meeting the woman who made you careless.
Erik reads it once before placing the card on his desk.
My phone is still face-down beside it, hiding a photograph of him standing with Peter outside a warehouse tied to Orell.
Erik looks at Makari and starts asking about the donor allotment while I stare at those two objects sitting inches apart.
Saturday already has Orell waiting for us.
For tonight, the photograph stays where it is.